


why the fuck not?

by allthelostsouls



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Explicit Language, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-05
Updated: 2014-09-05
Packaged: 2018-02-16 05:15:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2257185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allthelostsouls/pseuds/allthelostsouls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ian and Mickey have an accident just when they're chanting victory. Ian can't remember and Mickey's falling apart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	why the fuck not?

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this yesterday, it took me an hour. It was three in the morning, my body was still assimilating half a bottle of tequila and I still had my heels on. I had gone to Austin State Hospital earlier that day (for those who don't know, it's psychiatric hospital and I volunteer there some times, we always play Bingo with the patients and stuff, it's really fun) and I guess doing that after eight months of not volunteering in a hospital stuck with me a bit and that's why this is a bit dark. Am, there's nothing left to do now but apologize, hope it makes sense and that you guys like it. I'll help you understand this, don't worry.  
> So, it's more of little fragments than an actual story but um, this happened the night Mickey came out (4x11). For the purpose of this story, Ian has his own room and Mickey climb windows (idk if he can actually do that in the Gallagher house but it's happening, so just go with it, please) they have a car and Ian's driving (make up any story you want respect how they got the car if you like, I'd love to hear theories) and they get on an accident. Ian hits his head and can't remember anything that happens after he hears Mickey say, "the hell do I care, bitch?" and makes his way to the door.  
> I'm working on all the prompts you guys have sent me, you'll see them up pretty soon. Pinky promise.  
> Oh, and _please_ , don't hate me for this.

“This is the way the world ends

This is the way the world ends

This is the way the world ends: 

Not with a bang but with a whimper.” 

— T.S. Eliot, _The Hollow Men_

In the beginning, there was darkness. 

Darkness had been there long before God created the light. Ian thinks about that as he sees it approaching. That’s all he can do, think. He’s not able to move. He hears screaming but it’s probably himself. A second or two after that, his brain forces the hand he has on the steering wheel to move to the side but it’s too late. The light is too close. His body shakes violently; his side hits the door and then his body falls to the other side but he doesn’t feel a thing. He only sees the light shining on the small pieces of glass that start flying around him before he closes his eyes.

In the end, there’s darkness.

*

_This is the way the world ends._

*

When you wake up there are a few seconds of pure oblivion. You don’t remember anything, you don’t feel any pain, and you don’t realize where you are. But when everything comes back all at once, it can leave you breathless. It can bruise you and make your heart stop. It can make you bleed. It can make you yell in pain when you try to move and blind you with tears.

“Calm down, sweetheart,” a woman says next to him but he can’t see her. He wants to ask _mom?_ , but he knows it’s not her. “This will help the pain.”

It starts on his arm; the relief. And it moves to the tips of his fingers before it rushes to his shoulder and then moves in every direction until the pain stops completely.

 _In the beginning, in the end_ , and the darkness take over him again after that.

*

When he opens his eyes again, he thinks he’s dead.

When he realizes he’s not, he wishes he was. 

His family’s probably going to kill him for scaring them like that anyway, so it doesn’t really matter.

*

They didn’t hurt him at all. And he really wishes they did, just so he wouldn’t have to look at his sisters’ worried eyes and his brother trying to pretend he’s not about to burst into tears (even though that’s better than actually seeing him crying, much better).

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” Friona breathes on his air, giving him another bone-crushing hug. He doesn’t complain this time, instead he puts his arms around her and mumbles a _sorry_ because he doesn’t know what else to say and it almost sounds as if he’s sorry for being okay but Fiona knows he’s sorry for getting in an accident. He melts into her arms and closes his eyes, finally letting his muscles relax until—

“We’re glad both of you are okay.”

Ian’s eyes snap open at that and his body tenses as he stares at his bother.

_Both of you?_

*

You should know about Mickey.

His eyes are the sky, his mouth is wine, his hair smells better than flowers, and his laugh is the radio. That’s the only way Ian can describe him. That’s the only way he wants to describe him, really. They met years ago and died for three minutes in a car accident. Ian has always wanted to scream, Mickey has always been afraid of being heard. Ian is the day, Mickey is the night.

They’re _not_ in love with each other, they say. They think. They _wish_.

But we’ll come back to that.

*

Ian can’t remember that night.

He can’t remember anything about that day except walking out of a dirty bar furious at himself and the fucking world he had to live in. He doesn’t know what he was doing, where he was, or where he was going before the accident. He doesn’t remember what time it was or when he changed his clothes. He doesn’t remember why Mickey was in the car.

“Why were you there?” he whispers a day later, looking through the small window in the door. He can see Mickey asleep and his stomach twists when he notices the machines hooked to him and the patch on the base of his neck, covering a wound. He feels lightheaded all of a sudden and he really needs to sit down but he can’t stop staring. He’s always staring. “Why were you there?”

Why were you there, Mickey? 

_Why?_

*

“You can call me Martha,” she smiles toothily at him and Ian doesn’t understand how she can look so happy on a Saturday at eight thirty in the morning. He doesn’t even understand why he’s here. He really needs to get some sleep. “I’ve read a little about what happened and had a talk with your family and from what I understood, you can’t really remember much of that night.”

“Will you tell me what happened?”

“You were in a car accident,” she smiles again and Ian’s never thought he’d want to hit a woman, but damn, he really wants to do just that right now. “I can’t tell you anything else. But I can try help you remember.”

“How?”

“Some exercises and exploring other parts of your memory, you’ll see.” She stands up and guides him to this long black chair that kind of looks like a couch or a couch that kind of looks like a chair and asks him to lie down. He does and he could fall asleep right there and then but before he can even get comfortable enough, she’s talking again. “Don’t be afraid to tell me anything at any moment, okay? I’m not here to judge and nothing you say will leave this room.”

“What if I killed someone and I confess it to you in a session, would you tell the police? Would that be against your morals as a professional?”

“Very clever,” she replies and he can feel her smiling. He smiles a little too but she can’t see it and he’d never admit it. “Let’s start, okay? Tell me anything you remember about that day.”

They only talk about that for five minutes. He says all the things he remembers but they’re meaningless to him. Nothing of what he remembers tells him what happened or why Mickey was with him that night. She starts asking things that have nothing to do with the accident but he answers them all honest. He tells him about their last family trip, the last time he enjoyed a class and the last thing he read that he found interesting. He answers everything the best he can and thinks it’s a waste of his time, _how is any of this going to help me remember?_ But he figures it’s the least he can do when she’s trying so hard.

*

“According to Greek mythology,” he remembers reading aloud to himself something that Plato wrote from this old book he found at the library. “Humans were originally created with 4 arms, 4 legs and a head with two faces. Fearing their power, Zeus split them into two separate parts, condemning them to spend their lives in search of their other halves.”

*

_In the beginning, in the end._

*

“Ian!” he hears Fiona scream once he finally wakes up and stops screaming himself. 

Everything’s silent then except for their loud breathings and he doesn’t know what’s going on until it flashes in his mind again and he starts crying.

“Why can’t I remember anything else?” he cries. “Why was he there? He shouldn’t have been there.”

“It’s okay, Ian,” she mutters pushing his head to her chest and gathering him in her arms right away. She sighs once he hangs onto her, his hands making fists on her pajama top. “Everything’s okay.”

Then she opens her mouth to say _we can stop by the hospital tomorrow if you want_ but she knows it’s a terrible idea and it might make him scream all over again so she just closes her mouth and rests her check on his head.

It’s going to be a long night.

*

“Why was Mickey with you that night?”

“I fucking wish I knew,” he mutters and it’s surprising how his good mood got crushed by a simple question.

Martha senses something in his voice—it’s really hard not to, and Ian wishes he’d have took his time to reply because maybe, just maybe, if he hadn’t said that in such a harsh tone, she wouldn’t have asked, “Tell me about Mickey.”

“Mickey,” he starts and the name burns the back of his throat all the way down to his stomach and he gets a sour taste on his mouth that he wants to spit out but can’t. He clears his throat and starts again, “Mickey’s a fucking dick. And that’s all you need to know about him.”

*

If Martha would have said “tell me about Mickey” two months ago, Ian would’ve spent the entire hour trying to find a color that matches the color of his eyes perfectly, and he’d draw his hands because he knows the shape of them perfectly and he might even had tried to describe the taste of his mouth to her because she wouldn’t say anything to anybody and she was there to listen, and because Ian have been dying to share all of these things with someone.

*

“I keep having this dream,” he says and it’s been three weeks since the accident. Mickey’s finally able to leave the hospital and he never asked why he had to stay that long. Ian’s whispering, but the room is so quiet it almost sounds as a shout. “Mickey wasn’t afraid anymore.”

“Afraid of what?”

“Of me,” he swallows. “Of us... Of them.”

“And how does that make you feel, Ian?” Martha asks and _what a stupid fucking question. What the fuck am I doing talking to this nutcase?_

“Miserable.”

“Miserable?”

“It was just a dream.”

*

Mickey sees him walk by years before the accident and it’s the first time he actually pays attention to the details and everything Ian is. He likes the way his blue shirt touches his neck and the way his red hair shines under the sun making it look like a mix in between orange and gold. He loves the way he bites his lip and then runs his finger over the almost broken skin.

He doesn’t like _him_. And he would’ve killed anybody who’d dare to say otherwise.

*

_I loved you first._

*

“There are only a few things that I’m sure about in this world,” Ian says. He’s so high his tongue feels like cotton and he doesn’t even know he’s talking until a second after he hears his own voice. “You can never be overdressed or overeducated—I saw that on a bumper sticker—, it’s always darker before its dawn, God never gives you more than you can handle, and I’m in love with you.”

He hears Mickey suck in a breath and—

—and that’s when Ian wakes up. That’s when he always wakes up.

*

“I’m trying to forget about him, I’m trying to know if he loves me, I’m trying to forget about the accident, I’m trying not to kill myself, I’m trying to remember what happened, I’m trying to forget the shape of his mouth, I’m trying to write something for him, I’m…” he sucks in a breath and he can’t say much else after that. The lump on his throat is too big and Martha asks him if he wants to stop for today. He shakes his head, not listening, and squeezes his eyes shut when tears start to fall. “I’m trying, I’m trying…”

*

It’s only a few days after Mickey leaves the hospital that Ian _hears_ him.

He’s in the kitchen, taking pain killers when he hears someone opening the front door. He hears Fiona’s voice telling the person, “I’m glad you’re okay,” and that’s all Ian needs to know it’s him. He puts his hands flat on the table, and closes his eyes tight to make the kitchen stop spinning and his breathing to stop shaking. 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she says and there’s an apology in every word she says.

“Why the fuck not?” it’s the first thing he hears him say loud and clear in weeks and his heart contracts in his chest.

“He’s still shaken up and he—he still can’t remember that night.”

Mickey says something else and Fiona replies with another apology at the end of the sentence. He doesn’t understand what it is because they had started whispering and he hates his legs for not being able to hold him up or even walk closer to the door to listen better. The door closes and Ian shudders. His hands are clammy and his head hasn’t stop spinning and it’s ridiculous what only hearing _his voice_ can do to him.

The thought of forever being in love with Mickey makes his heart shatter.

*

 _Why?_ He thinks that night while lying on his bed.

 _Why the fuck not?_ He hears Mickey’s voice in his head.

*

When he sees him, it’s the most awkward thing in the world.

It’s fucking painful, too. Not only mentally but physically. Ian’s ribs literally start burning and he feels the skin on the palm of his hands breaking for how hard he’s holding onto the table. And it’s stupid of Ian to think he wouldn’t run into Mickey in his own fucking house but Mandy promised he was going to be out all day. Still, it was fucking dumb of him. They could’ve met anywhere else but maybe, _maybe_ (more than maybe) he actually wanted to see Mickey.

Mandy’s apologizing but neither of them is listening. Mickey bites the inside of his bottom lip and stares at the ground. 

“I thought I’d never see you again,” he mumbles and he could’ve been talking to his shoes but Ian knows better. 

“I thought you wanted me to leave.”

Mickey lets out a shaky breath, almost as if he was about to cry, and turns around without looking up. He mumbles something not even himself can understand and kicks the wall before he starts walking.

“Why where you there?,” Ian finally has the courage to shout, but Mickey’s already out the door.

*

It’s been a week since the last time they talked to each other and the night goes like this:

i.

“It’s not what I wanted,” Mickey whispers. 

It’s the first time they’ve been alone for more than a second in a whole _week_. Ian’s at the Milkovich house watching a movie with Mandy, and Mickey overheard him asking his sister if she wanted something to drink. He takes it as his opportunity to try and talk to Ian since him and his family have done a great job keeping Mickey away. He understands it, it’s best for Ian’s health apparently, but that doesn’t mean his heart doesn’t break every time he sees him.

“Then what do you want from me, Mickey?” Ian asks and it’s harsher that he expected but it’s too late, the words are already out there, floating above them and ready to fall over Mickey like rocks. “I gave everything I have, I gave you everything I _am_ and you didn’t want it.” 

Mickey blinks and then leaves his eyes closed while saying Ian’s name in a sigh. And _this is the way the world ends_ , Ian thinks. He knows he’s trying. He knows he’s looking for the right words but Ian’s done. He doesn’t want people tiptoeing around him anymore. He tells Mickey that and he considers his words for another moment. It’s after a whole minute of silence that Ian lets out a sigh that almost sounds like a sad laugh, grabs the beers and walks out.

 _This is the way the world ends_ , Ian thinks again as he passes right next to Mickey. He takes a step away from him and Mickey’s sucking in a breathe trying to choke a sob. _Not with a bang but with a whimper._

ii.

_Why were you there?_

He stares at his phone and occasionally presses his thumb to keep the screen from going black. He thinks he might throw up when he sees he's writing and curses at whoever came up with that idea. A second later, the sound of a new text message makes his head spin. He has to focus hard and open his eyes wider than usual to stop the screen from moving and read the words on it. He notices that his hands are the ones shaking after a while.

_You know._

iii.

Ian hears the knock on his window but he thinks he might be dreaming. He squeezes his eyes shut and covers his ears with his hands while whispering over and over again that it's all in his head.

"Ian," Mickey whispers-shouts outside and bangs on the glass again, and it's so real Ian falls out of the bed. "Shit, you okay?" He hears Mickey say then and _fuck_ , he's not dreaming. 

He moves the curtain and even though he knows it’s Mickey's, his heart still skips a beat (or two). He doesn't ask why he's there; he just unlocks the window and pushes it open. He doesn't ask Mickey to come in or steadies him while he tries to get inside; he goes back to bed and lays down, his eyes staring at the ceiling. The bed dips next to him and soon he feels the warmth of Mickey's body and when the heartbreak starts is almost unbearable. 

"You apologized, didn't you?" he asks, still looking up at the ceiling.

Mickey pauses for a moment as if he was thinking back to that night.

"Yes."

"And I forgave you, didn't I?" he asks again but it sounds more like a statement that anything else. "That's why you were with me in the car."

"Yeah," Mickey breathes.

"How did it happen?"

And Ian's not really sure what he's asking but he waits for Mickey to say something—anything. Something that might help him remember what the hell happened and what is he allowed to say or to do around Mickey now. But he doesn't, Mickey just leans closer and kisses his shoulder before resting his head in it and whispering, "You'll remember."

iv.

Ian's body jolts awake and he falls out of the bed while looking for his phone to have some light but he can’t find it. The lights appears, though, making him close his eyes for a second or two before he gets use to it and he can see Mickey next to the switch. Ian lets his body fall to the floor with a loud sigh and he focuses on his breathing. _In, out, in, out..._

"You’ve dreamt of me—," Mickey states and Ian watches him as he sits next to him, his eyes never living him. "I know. I can see the terror in your eyes."

"Mickey," Ian scolds shaking his head.

"You don't have to lie to me," he replies with a sad smile. "So, what happened?"

The image flashes in Ian's mind and he feels like he's going to burst into tears or maybe even throw up. Instead, he forces his body off the ground and presses his mouth against Mickey's almost desperately. He kisses back the same, but then slows down until their lips are moving softly against each other and not long after that, they finally stop moving altogether. Ian watches him, his lips red and bitten, his eyes passive and calm, and thinks he really does love that boy.

"You died," he finally says and he hates the way his voice sounds so broken, his breathing accelerated. "The glass cut your throat and—," and he stops there, closing his eyes and shaking his head as if he was trying to remove the image from his. "You were so still—," he’s panting. "There was so much blood—"

And Mickey cuts him off with a kiss. "I'm okay," he breathes into his mouth, his hand on the back of Ian's head, making sure he wouldn't go anywhere. "We're okay, Ian. We’re okay."

v.

Not long after Ian falls asleep, Mickey’s shaking him awake.

Ian opens his eyes wide and practically crawls all the way to the window, Mickey right behind him, trying his best to help. Mickey makes him sit down on the window frame and puts Ian’s hands flat against his chest, asking him to follow him, and he says over and over again, "Breathe, Ian, please. _Please_.”

And he’s trying. He closes his eyes and tries to forget about the pain in his chest but his throat burns every time he lets some air in which makes it harder for him to control his mind.

“Ian,” Mickey almost screams. “Ian, please.”

But it doesn’t get that much better.

“ _Please_ ,” he begs and he’s about to cry when slowly, very slowly, Ian’s breathing starts matching his. And they stay like that for a while, just breathing in front of each other, following each other’s rise and fall of their chest. Mickey’s the first one to speak and it’s a simple, “Fuck,” followed by a, “You scared the shit outta me, Ian.”

And then their chests are touching and their arms are tightly wrapped around each other and neither of them is going to let go any time soon.

“I’m sorry.”

vi.

Ian’s still sitting on the window frame, looking up at Mickey. He swallows hard when he sees the scar on his neck, peaking through his t-shirt. Mickey notices and shifts uncomfortably, he turns around and Ian can’t see the still reddish line anymore. 

“I’m glad you’re okay,” he says softly, almost as he didn’t want to be heard and he doesn’t. But he has to say something to make Mickey know that it’s okay. That Ian will always love him, no matter how many scars he has on his body, especially if they’re there because of him.

Mickey smirks towards him and shrugs, “Bad weed never dies.”

vii.

“Stop staring,” Mickey asks, his eyes darting to the ground at the same time his hand moves towards his shoulder to try to cover it up, but Ian does anyway. He has to.

He touches Mickey’s knuckles with the tip of his finger and kisses his hand before he pushes it away. Mickey’s breath gets stuck on his throat as Ian moves his shirt to the side and then shudders when Ian’s warm breath hits his skin. “Stop,” he whispers, his voice and knees shaking, but Ian doesn’t. He can’t.

“It’s okay,” he replies and Mickey can’t really hear it but he feel the words moving down his jaw and neck and lets out a breathy moan when Ian kisses the space between the base of his neck and where his scar starts. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever had,” and Mickey whines when Ian’s lips touch the little red lump on his skin for the first time. It doesn’t get any better when he does it again. If anything, his knees shake harder and his breathing becomes erratic, and his head starts spinning as Ian keeps following the line with his mouth.

“Fuck,” he breathes at the same time he closes his hands around Ian’s hips and pushes him almost violently against him. Ian follows, pressing Mickey against the wall, nails digging into his skin. But not long after that, Mickey has to put both his hands on Ian’s face to make him look at him, his thumb cleaning his cheeks and asking him very softly to stop crying. When it doesn’t work, he lets Ian’s head rest on his shoulder and holds him close.

“It’s so close to your vein,” he mumbles and it’s really hard to understand, but they’re so close Mickey feels the movement of his mouth against his skin. “I could’ve killed you. You could’ve died because of me.” 

“It wasn’t your fault,” Mickey says right away. “It was a drunk driver.” 

Ian tenses up and he takes a shaky breath while looking up at Mickey.

“No, I was the one who crashed into the other car.” 

“What? No,” he assures him. “Ian, no, we were at a red light and a car crashed into us. It wasn’t your fault.” 

“What?” 

“It wasn’t your fault. You pushed me to the side and if you wouldn’t have then the glass would have reached my throat. You saved me.” 

Ian’s head starts spinning and Mickey must have notice because suddenly he’s pushing him backwards and makes him sit on the bed. It’s a good idea since Ian feels like he’s about to faint.

 _It doesn’t make sense_. He hears the words but he’s not sure if he said them out loud or it was just a thought. _It wasn’t my fault?_

“Ian?” Mickey asks and his voice and hands are shaking. Ian notices when he touches his face again, softly following his jaw line. “Are you okay?”

Ian shakes his head and closes his eyes tight, wishing the room would stop fucking spinning. “I need to lie down.”

And that’s what they do. They both lie down in the bed and then Ian’s reaching for Mickey, and Mickey doesn’t protest. He rests his head on Ian’s chest immediately, interlocking their legs, while whispering over and over that they’re okay. 

And it wasn’t your fault, Ian. It wasn’t.

viii.

“I told you that I loved you right before it happened,” he breathes against his neck. It’s dark and cold outside, and Mickey’s fingers press down harder on his skin for just a second but Ian stays still. He’s sure Mickey thinks he’s asleep; otherwise, he wouldn’t be talking about the accident. He tries his best to keep his breathing and heart rate steady, and to stop his hands from closing around his body tighter and pinning him down against the bed before lying in between his legs and kissing him until they can’t breathe no more. “I kissed you and I told you that I loved you and then you pushed me away when we saw the lights coming. We couldn’t do anything else. Everything was a blur after that. I was so scared when I woke up and they wouldn’t tell me if you were okay. I thought I lost you. I-I—,” Mickey’s breath shakes and his words break and it’s a moment before he can continue. His voice is even lower after that and shaking a lot more but he still manages to mutter, “I can’t lose you.”

And the whole world’s completely silent after that.

ix.

The sun comes up, Mickey’s still asleep and their bodies are still as close as they possibly can, and the same eleven words are still bouncing on Ian’s head: _I told you that I loved you right before it happened._

*

Neither of them moves when they wake up. They just stay there, holding each other, listening to each other’s breathing. They’re tired, it was a rough night, and they don’t have anywhere else to be but here. So, why bother moving?

Ian sighs in content and his fingers move over Mickey’s chest. He’s been thinking about God a lot lately. And when he looks at Mickey’s scar and thinks it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, he apologies for it. And when he realizes he doesn’t want to do anything but run his tongue over it, he knows he won’t be forgiven. Something in Mickey’s left hand catches his eyes then. He stops his own hand from moving on Mickey’s chest to grab his hand which was resting on his lower stomach. Ian feels a hole under his lungs when he sees a tiny and almost invisible white line on Mickey’s wrist. Mickey follows his eyes and runs the tip of his finger over Ian’s knuckles. Ian doesn't understand why Mickey gasps until he grabs Ian’s hand and follows the line of the scar Ian forgot he had there.

"I was holding your hand when it happened," Mickey mumbles so low, Ian's sure he's scared if he talked louder than that, someone would end up running away. "I never let go."  
Ian looks down at their hands and smiles when he notices they're almost the same. Once their fingers interlock, in the right angle, the line starts in the spot where Mickey’s hand connects to his forearm and ends on Ian's, making a perfect straight line.

"I went to the section of old literature in the library once," Ian starts and Mickey stares at him, the corners of his mouth raising for the way Ian seemed so focused on their scars and because he's heard that story a million times before but hearing it now meant everything. "And I started looking though these books by Plato and I found something he wrote so interesting that I memorized in about three minutes. It said, ‘Humans were originally created with four arms, four legs and a head with two faces. Fearing their power, Zeus split them into two separate parts, condemning them to spend their lives in search of their other halves'."

When Ian finally looks up, Mickey's smiling big. He shakes his head and he looks like he's debating into doing something but before Ian can ask, Mickey's mouth is on him. He's kissing him hard and slow and Ian grabs him by the shirt to make sure Mickey wouldn't pull away too quickly and—

"I love you," Mickey mumbles against his mouth.

—and it all flashes behind his eyes in a fraction of a second.

*

It all comes back in pieces. Not in order and there’s still a few black holes but he fills them when Mickey tells him the whole story. He remembers the look on Mickey’s face when he was talking to all the people in the bar, and the taste of blood in his mouth while they were sharing a drink in the almost empty street and Terry being pushed inside of the back of a car by a police officer. He remembers Mickey’s laugh and the way he bit his lip before leaning over and kissing him. He remembers the way his hand closed on the steering wheel when Mickey sucked on his lip harshly and the panic that came right after those three words. Ian sees the lights coming before the darkness consumes it all again.

He opens his eyes and Mickey’s still there—he’s still holding his hand and breathing low while playing with his fingers.

“I loved you first,” Ian mumbles and Mickey knows he’s back.

“I highly doubt that.”

And Ian knows they’re going to be okay. Then he smiles because they’re okay right now, too.

**Author's Note:**

> [xcaffeinerush.tumblr.com](http://xcaffeinerush.tumblr.com) \- I'm not even sure if I should let you know where to find me now. Ha.


End file.
